


Tricks of Memory

by Churbooseanon



Series: Dreaming of You [1]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-29
Updated: 2014-05-29
Packaged: 2018-01-26 23:52:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1707155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Churbooseanon/pseuds/Churbooseanon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes memories play tricks on you. Sometimes you like the tricks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tricks of Memory

Memory is the key. That was something he’d been told a lot of times. Or at least had been said around him. First it was from Church coming back out of his head with a message from Delta. Then it was repeated by Wash a few times. Oh, and that time in the desert when Epsilon was a flying ball with a laser face and Delta took him over and repeated that memory is the key but also kinda sorta some memories were bad or something. And then he said it himself when Church asked before going into the unit.

Memory is the key and if Church didn’t come back then he was in charge of remembering because Tucker was bad at it. So, when the unit shut down and Simmons said he couldn’t have his best friend back, he did his best to remember.

Remembering is a lot harder than telling a story. In a way its like telling a story to yourself, but there were less pirates and astronauts and space marines. Remembering had only the pictures in your head and the things people had said to you and what you had done. The problem was that sometimes memory played tricks.

There were nights, there were always nights, when there were the tricks. Nights when he wasn’t supposed to stand outside watching to make sure nothing was happening. When Washington sent him off to his cot and he lay there in the dark, not staring at the pieces of his armor where he put them in the corner when he took them off—no one else seemed to care as much as he did about taking the armor off at naptime—because getting into a staring contest with his helmet-face was never all that fun. His helmet-face cheated really badly. But, anyway, there were were nights like those when he lay on his cot, staring up at the ceiling because it’s better than looking elsewhere, and in his head he told himself the story of Church.

When he told the story he started the same way, with his joining the blue team and being best friends and then everything unfolded from there. Each night he picked a new major event to focus on from there. There where nights he focused on the flag being taken. There were nights he tried to remember everything he could about accidentally one time killing Church. Sometimes he thought about the thing with Wyoming, because that was about Church in every way. He didn’t focus on O’Malley as much because that was more about him and those memories hurt. It was always most painful, though, to remember about Washington and Meta and losing Church and then Wash and Meta again and losing Epsilon. Those were the absolute worst because it hurt so bad that he wanted to cry when he thought about the final fight with the Meta and the memory unit and Church going in even though he said he didn’t want to lose his best friend.

But it was his job to remember. So he did, every single night before bed, and he tried this hardest to remember and get it right. Because this mattered, matter more than Epislon’s remembering. This was for him, always for him. What kind of best friend would he be if he forgot, after all? But some nights… Sometimes his mind would remember things that never happened. Remembered things he almost wished he could remember.

They happened on nights when he was thinking about him and Church together, and for some reason the room around him would always feel hot. Church would trail off from yelling and shouting and being very Church-like in his remembering to softer, to thinking, to almost totally quiet. He would remember Church’s gloves off, his hands pale like snow as they fumbled to take off his helmet-face. His mind would remember the feel of wind in his hair, brushing over his cheeks, real sunlight stinging his eyes. He’d remember soft, cool fingers stroking the line of his jaw.

His own hands would come up then, still in their gloves because it took too much time to take them off, so he could take off Church’s helmet too. For some reason his mind remembered Church with brown hair and amazing, bluey-green eyes, and a tired look in them that he almost can’t understand. Then he would remember standing there, waiting, watching, and Church would lean in and their lips would touch like he used to see his mom and dad do all the time.

It isn’t a right memory, he is certain of that. It would be very difficult for him to have forgotten something like that, right? Yet, somehow, he can’t find a way to stop himself from remembering it wrong. His mind just ignored him when he pointed out it wasn’t right, kept going. Told him it remembered helping Church out of his armor. Remembered holding Church in hugs. Remembered being held in hugs. Remembered light touches and gentle words and things that were very un-Church-like.

Sometimes Washington asks him whether he’s still remembering like he promised he would. He always says yes, but he never explains how sometimes his memory lies about what happened. Instead he listens quietly as Washington tells him other stories about Church, or at least Epsilon. It’s clear he remembers bad things that he won’t talk about, but he tells happy things too. Those memories aren’t his though, and so he never remembers them for Church. Not that he can explain just why it is that he doesn’t take the real memories he was never part of rather than the lying ones his mind makes up for him.

For all that they aren’t real, he can’t say they aren’t some of his favorite things to remember. Maybe they never happened, but the feel of cold fingers stroking his jaw and soft lips and gentle words and touches that made his body burn. Those are his favorite, those are the ones he always wants, the ones he isn’t really remembering during, and the ones he can’t let go.

He wishes he understood why his memories didn’t tell the truth. Wishes more that he could have Church back where he could take off that helmet and see whether he was remembering the right face, the right eyes, the right touching of lips.


End file.
